After Dark Read online

  He was halfway down the dingy corridor to her door before the obvious explanation for Lydia’s failure to answer her phone this morning occurred to him. Maybe she had spent the night somewhere other than her own apartment.

  For some obscure reason, that possibility irritated him. She was his consultant. He had first claim on the hours that she did not spend at Shrimpton’s House of Ancient Horrors.

  He started to lean on the doorbell, recalled that it did not function, and knocked instead. The door opened with unexpected speed. He caught a whiff of fresh paint.

  “Stop by to see the damage you caused, you little thug?” Lydia jerked the door wide. “If you think I won’t go to the cops just because you’re a kid, you—” She broke off, her eyes widening in shock. “Mr. London.”

  He studied her with deep interest. Clearly, she had not yet dressed for her job at Shrimpton’s. She wore an old denim shirt and a pair of well-worn, faded jeans. Her fiery hair was held back off her face with a wide blue band. The style underscored the intriguing angles of her face. There was a paintbrush in her left hand.

  The dust-bunny was perched on her shoulder, looking like a dirty cotton ball. Blue eyes blinked innocently at him.

  “Little thug?” Emmett repeated politely.

  A deep red blush crept up Lydia’s throat into her cheeks. “Sorry about the greeting,” she said gruffly. “I, uh, was expecting someone else.”

  He glanced at the paintbrush. “Does this mean you won’t be going to your office at the museum today?”

  “I wish.” She wrinkled her nose. “Unfortunately, I’ve got less than two hours to finish repainting my bedroom wall, get changed, and get to work. Look, I know you’re here because you want an update on how my search for your heirloom is going, but I really don’t have time to talk right now.”

  “I can see that. Mind if I ask why you didn’t wait until the weekend to undertake a major household-remodeling project?”

  “I don’t have much choice. One of the neighborhood ghost-hunter wanna-bes paid me a visit last night. Pulled a particularly nasty prank.”

  Emmett moved into the small foyer without waiting for an invitation. “What kind of prank?”

  “He managed to summon a small ghost. It materialized in my bedroom. I don’t know if he meant to do damage or if the UDEM just got away from him. Whatever, my wall looks like someone tried to use it for a barbecue grill. If my landlord finds out about the damage, he’ll probably try to use it as an excuse to cancel my lease.”

  “I’ll give you a hand,” Emmett said.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Her astonishment amused him for some reason. “I can paint a wall.”

  “Oh.” She glanced uncertainly down the hall. “It’s very nice of you to offer to help, but—”

  He removed the brush from her hand. “Let me have that.” He started down the hall.

  “Wait.” She hurried after him. “You’ll ruin that spiffy jacket. It looks like it cost a fortune. I can’t afford to replace it for you.”

  “Don’t worry about the jacket.” He came to a halt in the bedroom doorway and studied the scene.

  He had invited himself inside because he needed to see the evidence of ghost damage. Neighborhood punk or not, the fact that his new consultant had received a “visitation” within twenty-four hours of going to work for him set off several alarm bells.

  Even though he was here to examine the wall, the first thing he noticed was the unmade bed. There was something very intimate about the sight of the tangled white sheets and rumpled quilt. Lydia had slept here last night. Alone, from all indications. He felt the same whisper of sexual awareness that he had experienced the other morning at Shrimpton’s when he had interviewed her. The sensation was stronger this time. He wondered how much of a complication it would prove to be.

  Lydia came up behind him in the doorway. He forced his attention back to the matter at hand.

  The bed had been pushed away from the wall. A sheet spread out on the floor served as a makeshift tarp. A bucket of white paint sat on the sheet. Rags were piled in a heap.

  Emmett looked at the smoky traces on the wall. Three wavy lines. A chill settled in his gut.

  “We’ve got a problem,” he said.

  “I know I’ve got a problem. His name is Driffield. But as you can see, I’m almost half finished with that wall. If you’ll just get out of my way—”

  Emmett shook his head a single time, his gaze still on the marks that had been burned into the paint. “Your landlord is not your biggest issue right now.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  He did not answer right away. Hell, maybe he was wrong, he thought. Maybe he was letting his imagination run riot. It was just barely possible the marks were merely random.

  He walked slowly into the room, examining the singed paint. The more closely he looked, the more he knew that his first reaction had been the right one. The marks were not the haphazard scorching of a small out-of-control ghost. Admittedly it was sloppy work, but he could make out the design. The three wavy lines were unmistakable.

  “Your neighborhood punk didn’t do this,” Emmett said.

  “Don’t bet on it. We’ve got some strong young budding ghost-hunters around here. Future hoodlums, all of ’em. And all itching to join the Guild.”

  “I don’t care how strong they are. Those burn marks are deliberate. They aren’t random scorches. Whoever summoned the ghost had it under full control. No untrained dissonance-energy para-rez could have managed that degree of accuracy with a wild ghost.”

  She eyed him uneasily. “Do you really think so?”

  “Yeah,” Emmett said very quietly. “I really think so. We need to talk.”

  She studied him for a long moment. “You think this has something to do with your missing cabinet, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  She hesitated. “Okay, we’ll talk. But the conversation will have to take place some other time. Right now I’ve got to get this wall painted, and then I have to get to work.”

  She snatched the paintbrush back out of his hand, stepped around him, and started toward the wall.

  His first impulse was to grab the brush again, but he resisted the temptation. Maybe he’d been wrong about her relationship with Chester Brady. Maybe he’d been wrong about some other things as well. He was still winging it, he reminded himself. Still playing it by ear. So much depended on hitting the right notes.

  “I’ll take you to dinner tonight,” he said. “We’ll talk then.”

  She frowned. “What is this? Has something changed since yesterday?”

  He glanced at the design that had been etched into her wall. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  She gave him a steely look. “I’d better remind you that we have a contract, Mr. London.”

  “I’m aware of that, Miss Smith. Like I said, I’ll fill you in this evening. In the meantime, don’t make any further inquiries concerning my cabinet.”

  Alarm flashed in her eyes. “Why not?”

  “There isn’t time to go into it now.”

  “Wait just one damn minute here.” Her voice heated swiftly. “I’ve got plans to talk to three more antique shop owners today.”

  “Forget them.”

  “But—”

  He turned to face her. “That is a direct order, Miss Smith. I don’t want you making any more inquiries on my behalf concerning the cabinet until we’ve discussed the matter tonight. Is that understood?”

  Most people backed down when he used that tone. Lydia’s jaw tightened, but she did not give so much as an inch.

  “No,” she said, “it is not understood.”

  “Let’s get something clear here. I’m the client. I’m telling you that I will not pay you another cent if you continue talking to dealers about the cabinet.”

  “But we have a contract,” she protested.

  “Paint your wall, Miss Smith. I’ll pick you up tonight at seven.”

  6

 
“SO WHO’S THIS guy you’re going out with tonight?” Zane Hoyt helped himself to a can of Curtain Cola from Lydia’s small refrigerator. “Someone you met at the museum?”

  “Sort of. He’s a new client.” Lydia peered into the hall mirror and adjusted the gold hoop in her ear. “It’s a business meeting, not a date.”

  “Sounds boring.”

  Whatever else Emmett London was, Lydia thought, he was definitely not boring. She met Zane’s gaze in the mirror and smiled.

  Zane had just turned thirteen. Dark-haired and dark-eyed, he was slim, energetic, and hitting the awkward stage when he badly needed a man’s firm hand on his shoulder. Unfortunately, there was no adult male in the picture. His father, a ghost-hunter, had been killed years ago in the catacombs. His mother had died in a drunk-driving accident shortly thereafter. Zane was being raised by his aunt, Olinda Hoyt. They lived downstairs on the third floor.

  The majority of Lydia’s so-called friends and colleagues at the University had disappeared after the Lost Weekend incident. Zane and Olinda had befriended Lydia at a time when she had found herself badly in need of friends. She was deeply grateful.

  “The important thing is that Mr. London is going to pay me big bucks to help him find a lost family heirloom,” Lydia said.

  “Huh. Still sounds boring.” Zane paused hopefully. “Unless we’re talking about something from the catacombs?”

  “Nope. It’s an Old Earth antique.”

  “Why do you want to mess around with Old Earth stuff? I thought you wanted to get back underground.”

  “I do. But before I can attract that kind of business, I need to establish my reputation as a private consultant. That means I’ll take any business I can get.”

  “I guess.” Zane took a swallow of cola and wrinkled his nose. “So is it okay for me to study here tonight with Fuzz while you’re out?”

  “Sure.” Anything to encourage his educational efforts, Lydia thought. “Fuzz enjoys the company.”

  Zane was a budding dissonance-energy para-rez. Unless he was forcibly prodded into a different path, his career prospects were all too obvious. It was almost a given that he would join the Guild when he turned eighteen and become a ghost-hunter. To make matters worse, he was thrilled with the image of himself in leather and khaki.

  Lydia was doing her utmost to discourage him. At best, ghost-hunters were little more than high-priced body-guards, in her opinion. Bodyguards, furthermore, who could not be depended upon in a crunch, as she had discovered at her own expense six months ago. At worst, they were gangsters.

  Zane was too bright to waste his life in a dead-end muscle job. She might not be able to keep him from doing some ghost-hunting on the side, but she was determined that he get a college degree and study a respectable profession.

  She sat down in the chair across from him. “Zane, before Mr. London gets here, I want to ask you a question. This is real serious, okay? So please don’t tease me.”

  He gave her a quizzical look. “Something wrong?”

  “Maybe. Last night someone summoned a ghost and sent it into my bedroom to frighten me. Today, at work, I got a weird phone call about it. I think it must have been someone from the neighborhood. Any idea who it was?”

  Zane sputtered on a mouthful of cola. “Are you kidding? None of the guys I hang with are strong enough yet to actually summon a ghost.”

  “How about one of the older boys? Derrick or Rich?”

  Zane took another swig of his soda while he pondered that. “Jeez, I dunno, Lyd. I don’t think so. Maybe it’s someone new in the area.”

  “I was afraid you’d say that,” Lydia muttered.

  “A lot of the guys would probably tell you they could do it, but don’t believe ’em. They like to flash a lot of amber around, but I’ve never actually seen any of ’em do much except maybe get a couple of flickers going.” Zane eyed her closely. “You sure that wasn’t what you saw? Some flickers?”

  “Positive.” Lydia knew that Zane and his buddies used the word “flickers” to describe the tiny, harmless scraps of energy that were too small to be classified as real ghosts. They lasted, on average, for only a few seconds before winking out of existence. They were too little and too weak to be manipulated. Even the youngest and weakest hunters could summon flickers by the time they reached puberty.

  “You’re sure it was a real ghost?” Zane looked doubtful.

  “Trust me on this, Zane. If there’s one thing I can recognize on sight, it’s a real ghost.”

  “Yeah, sure,” he said much too quickly. “I believe you, Lyd.”

  But she caught the flash of concern in his gaze and knew what he was thinking. Zane was her friend and loyal defender, but deep down he, too, was worried that she had been badly damaged by whatever she had experienced during her Lost Weekend in the catacombs.

  Until she got back underground and faced a few traps, she could not prove to herself or anyone else that she wasn’t going to crack under pressure.

  The knock on the front door interrupted her before she could grill Zane further.

  “That will be my hot date.” She started to get to her feet.

  But Zane leaped off the sofa and charged toward the door. “I’ll get it.”

  He opened the door with a flourish. There was a moment of acute silence while man and boy regarded each other.

  “Hello,” Emmett said. “I’m here to pick up Lydia.”

  Zane grinned. “Hi. I’m a friend of Lydia’s. Zane. Zane Hoyt.”

  “Nice to meet you, Zane. I’m Emmett London.” Emmett glanced at the large chunk of amber that hung around Zane’s neck. “Nice necklace.”

  “Thanks. I’m a dissonance-energy para-rez. Gonna join the Guild and become a ghost-hunter when I turn eighteen.”

  “That right?” Emmett asked politely.

  Lydia frowned. “You’re only thirteen, Zane. You’ll probably change your mind about what you want to do a thousand times before you turn eighteen.”

  “No way,” Zane said with absolute conviction. He grimaced at Emmett. “Lydia’s not real keen on ghost-hunting. She had a bad experience a few months ago, you see, and she blames—”

  “That’s enough, Zane,” Lydia cut in swiftly. “I’m sure Mr. London has dinner reservations. We’d better be on our way.”

  “Yeah, sure,” Zane said. He looked at Emmett with a proprietary gleam in his eyes. “Lyd’s ready to go, Mr. London. She looks real nice, doesn’t she?”

  Emmett swept Lydia with a considering expression. His eyes gleamed, too. Lydia was pretty sure she saw amusement in that amber-colored gaze, but she thought she also saw something else, something that might have been masculine appreciation. She grew unaccountably warm.

  She wasn’t blushing. She could not possibly be blushing. This was business, after all.

  Maybe she should have worn a business suit instead of the little aqua dinner dress. She had bought it just before the disaster in the catacombs, right after she and Ryan Kelso had started dating. But Ryan had eased himself out of her life in the weeks following her Lost Weekend, and she’d never had an opportunity to wear the dress.

  When she had taken the frock out of the back of the closet where it had been hanging unworn for more than six months, it had seemed discreet enough for a business dinner. The long sleeves and the high neckline gave the garment an almost prim look. At least, that’s what she had told herself. Suddenly she was not so sure.

  “Yes,” Emmett said, “she looks very nice.”

  Nice? What did “nice” mean? She wondered. She eyed his slouchy, unconstructed black linen jacket, black T-shirt, and black trousers. Definitely not nice, she decided. Dangerous, sexy, intriguing, but not nice.

  She cleared her throat. “We’d better be on our way. Zane, you can do your homework here and keep Fuzz company until it’s time for you to go back to your place. But no watching the rez-screen. Understood?”

  Zane made a face. “Jeez, Lyd, I don’t have enough homework to fill up the whole eve
ning.”

  “If, by some bizarre chance, you happen to finish your schoolwork early, you can read a book until it’s time to go home,” she said heartlessly.

  Zane groaned. “Okay, okay. No rez-screen.” He paused speculatively. “How about ice cream?”

  Lydia grinned. “Sure. As long as you leave some for me.”

  “No problem.” Zane waved her through the door with a gallant motion of his hand. “Have a good time.”

  Lydia grasped the strap of her purse tightly and moved out into the hall. When Zane closed the door very loudly behind her, she was suddenly conscious of being alone with Emmett. Without a word, she walked beside him to the stairwell.

  “Known Zane long?” Emmett asked as they started down to the fourth floor.

  “I met him and his aunt right after I moved into this apartment complex. He and Olinda were very kind to me at a time when I, well, when I needed friends.”

  “Olinda is the aunt?”

  “Yes.” Lydia stepped into the elevator. “She’s okay. A good-hearted soul. Runs the Quartz Café down the street. But I’m afraid she’s got plans for Zane, and they don’t include a college education.”

  “What kind of plans?”

  “Olinda makes no secret of the fact that she can’t wait until Zane is old enough to join the Guild and train as a ghost-hunter. A good one can make excellent money, you know.”

  “So I’m told.”

  Lydia grimaced. “Unfortunately, Zane shows every sign of becoming a very powerful dissonance-energy para-rez.”

  “In other words, good old Aunt Olinda thinks Zane’s going to become an asset to the family’s cash flow as soon as she gets him into the Guild.”

  “Exactly.” Lydia glanced at him. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m very fond of Olinda, but she and I are engaged in an undeclared war. I’m fighting to make sure Zane goes to college before he even thinks about becoming a ghost-hunter. Olinda wants him to join the Guild the day he turns eighteen.”

  “I get the picture.”